


Anniversary

by alongthewires



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongthewires/pseuds/alongthewires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steph makes the same trip to the grave once a year, every year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

The air feels clearer from the rooftops; she knows that's not true, that it's just a trick of her imagination, a placebo affect of the wind in her hair and the feeling of free fall as she leaps off the edge of a rooftop, but she doesn't care. It feels clearer, and that's enough.

Right now she's no one, not Spoiler or Robin or Batgirl, she's just a dark shadow, bright hair hidden under black hood as she runs, braces her hand on a ledge and flips into the abyss, her feet finding purchase on a fire escape. It rings out, adding the creak and strain of metal to the already loud sounds of the night.

There are sirens in the distance, faint, but for once she doesn't turn towards them. She won't come to anyone's rescue tonight. It's selfish, in a way, but it's also not, because she's aware of her own limits and pushing herself now would only result in someone getting hurt. She has faith in the others in the city, to chase down the sirens and watch over the alleyways. Tonight she just slips over them, almost flying through the air as she runs.

The sirens die out, replaced by the rumble of the F-line train as she comes closer to the tracks. She doesn't stop, she leaves the rooftops and lands on the slick metal surface instead, dropping low, keeping her center of balance. Closing her eyes. For a long moment there's just the sound of the train, the feel of the wind in her face, blowing her hood back and making her hair trail behind her. The train is cool under her fingertips, no gloves tonight, even though it leaves her with grazes on her fingers, her palms, her knuckles. She doesn't mind, the little stings remind her why she's out tonight, why she's out every night.

For two minutes she waits, lets the train do the work for her, and then she's standing and opening her eyes and leaping from the carriage as it crosses a bridge. She catches herself on a support beam, fingers curled around the edge, then her hands, her arms, until she's pulled herself up. From up here she can almost pretend the city is beautiful, it's not something she thinks very often. She tells herself the tears in her eyes are from the wind, brushes them away with grazed hands and starts moving again, running, because if she stops too soon she knows she won't finish her journey tonight.

There's more metal tonight, cold wrought iron against her fingers. She's on the ground now, her hand stretched out, fingers catching on the black fence as she walks to the gate. She could scale it, but there's something in her chest that tells her it wouldn't be right, and she doesn't ignore her instincts, not tonight.

It's quieter here, like the din of the city won't dare interrupt, or maybe like it can't penetrate the fence, the soft grass, the pebbled paths that crunch under her boots as she walks. Her eyes are closed again, she doesn't need to see where she's going, she's made this journey more times than she can count and she won't ever stop making it, even as she realizes that somewhere between the bridge and the gate she's started crying again. This time she doesn't bother to brush the tears away.

The couple comes first. She opens her eyes just as she reaches them, and she looks at the two names enscribed on the plaque even though she doesn't need to. She doesn't read the soldier's name, because he's not there and he wouldn't want her to, anyway. She reads the final name with her fingers tracing over stone, on her knees despite the damp grass, despite her damp cheeks and the fact her hands shake as she feels the familiar curves of the carving. She drops her hands into her lap, closes her eyes again, and holds her breath.

Once a year things are different here, tonight things are different here. Instead of silence there's the sound of laughter, quiet, distant, like it sounds when she's flying through the air and it gets ripped away by the wind. If she waits long enough she can feel fingers on her cheek, on her neck, on her hand, the touch so light that she never dares to open her eyes because she knows it'll all disappear. It's just a trick of her imagination, except for how it only happens once a year. There are fingers in her hair now, smoothing it down as she finally starts breathing again, the air beside her feels like it's breathing in time.

"I miss you, too, Cass."


End file.
